Abby Takes a Case
by Taylor Hayes
Summary: Abby is working on a case, but so is the team, so she doesn't share. What will Gibbs do when she get in over her head? Semi-permanently on hiatus.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Abby gets Involved

a/n And in over her head, although she doesn't know it yet.

The two guys were leaning over the swaying girl, acting concerned. It was the third, semi-conscious girl in a week that she had seen the men paying attention to.

Abby Sciuto liked to people watch. It was one of her favorite parts of going to clubs and bars. And normally, she let the chips fall where they may. If someone was acting stupid, that was their problem. But she was beginning to think these two guys were serious creeps.

With a push, she came to her feet. In her wedge-heeled hooker boots, she was nearly 6'4", and her short, black lace dress, studded dog color, dark make-up, and feathery black curls identified her as a fun-time goth. Purposefully, she stomped across the room and pulled the staggering girl from between the men.

"I'm so glad I found you!" she crowed. Abby watched the confusion slowly worm it's way into the girl's unfocused eyes. Before she could give the game away, Abby threw an arm around her shoulder. "Come on. Jake's gonna be angry that we ditched him."

"Huh?" the girl mumbled.

One of the guys, the taller, thinner one with fine blond hair, finally tried to intercede. "Listen, lady, you friend is hanging out with us. Maybe you should just let her stay."

Abby turned the full force of her piercing gaze on the man. "I don't think that's such a good idea. She's hosed. And you're leering. So back off before I call the cops."

With angry mutters and some serious glaring, the two pushed their way through the crowd and toward the exit.

Abby waited a few minutes, then rolled her eyes and started half-carrying the girl. They reached the bar, and she pushed the stranger down onto one of the stools.

Lexy, the bartender, hurried over. "What's up, Abs? Who's the chick?" Alexa Hurst was 40, with more tats then Abby, but the same twisted interests. They had become friends when they both realized they considered guys wearing straight jackets hot.

"I think those douches put something in her drink," Abby shrugged. "Will you watch her while I call a taxi?"

"Sure, hon. Go for it." Alexa poured the girl a glass of water, and set it in front of her. As Abby moved away, she could already hear Lexy lecturing the girl about taking drinks from strangers.

She stood outside and dialed the taxi service she normally used. Abby knew the statistics about drunk driving and firmly believed it was a bad idea, even if she'd only had two drinks.

"Lenny, here. What can I do ya for?" the Bronx-tinged accent answered.

"Hiya, Lenny. It's Abby Sciuto."

"Abby! Great ta hear from ya, girly. Where ya at tonight?"

"Trinity Chaos. It's the one-"

"I know where it's at, sweetheart. I'll send Roger over right as soon as he drops off the arse he's cartin' around right now."

"Thanks, Lenny!"

"No problem, darlin'. Night."

"Night."

Then Abby looked down at her phone again and considered. Finally, she bit her lip and called McGee. It rang four times before he finally picked up.

"Tim McGee here," he yawned. "Who is this?"

"McGee, I need your help!"

"Abby?" She could hear him reaching for something, probably his watch, and sitting up in bed. "You do realize it's three a.m., right?"

"That's not important, McGee," Abby started pacing. "There's this girl who I just saved from some guys who I think where planning to rape her. And I don't know what to do with her."

"Call the police, Abs. It's kind of what they're there for."

"But it's bigger than that, McGee! I don't have any proof. You know how fast some of those drugs go through the system. By the time anyone comes, they'll already be mostly gone. Not to mention that, if she had anything to drink, the police would say that was like consenting, since she probably would have slept with the guys anyway if she got drunk enough. And this is the third one this week!"

"What are you talking about, Abby?"

"These creeps keep showing up and hitting on girls. I watched them leave with two other girls on other nights. And I haven't seen either of the girls since then."

There was silence, and then McGee spoke, serious. "Abby, how exactly did you get her away from the guys?"

She rolled her eyes. "I pretended to be her friend and just grabbed her and said we needed to leave."

"Anything else?"

"I might've threatened to call the cops if they didn't leave us alone."

"Abby! Now those men can recognize you. You might have put yourself in danger!"

"Don't be silly, McGee. They probably just thought I was an overprotective friend of hers."

"But we don't know that for sure, Abby. Call the cops. Or Gibbs. But do not just let this slide because you're afraid no one will be able to find any evidence."

"I can't call Gibbs! He needs his sleep! Especially after how long it took you guys to wrap up that terrorist thing this week."

McGee sighed. "Fine. But do call the police. Just make a report. Tell them you work for NCIS, and they'll take you more seriously. Okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, Timmy."

"My pleasure. Night, Abby."

"Technically, it's morning."

Abby chuckled as she heard McGee groan, then hang up.

As she walked back into the bar, she considered her options. She'd call the police in the morning, and just suggest they put someone undercover in the bar. Maybe that way the guys would actually get caught in the act. And she'd let the girl sleep at her place. Maybe draw some blood so she could do her own tests when she went into the lab tomorrow.

With a yawn, she checked the time on her phone. 3:14. It was Abby's bedtime.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Abby Gets in Deep

a/n I love the idea of Abby not being a morning person. *grin*

The next day dawned bright and early.

But inside the room, where all the curtains were dark and thick and kept out all available light, Abby put off consciousness. Then she groaned and rolled over in her coffin/bed, glaring as her Baby Batty clock went off. It was chirping at a decibel that could almost break glass, and was the only thing (besides a call from Gibbs) that could wake the "Mistress of the Dark" up in the morning.

She staggered up out of bed and wandered into her kitchen. Opening the black fridge door, she reached in and pulled out one of the five jumbo cups with the Caf-Pow logo on the side. Sucking at the straw like it held air she desperately needed, she stumbled back towards the front room.

This room was a little less "Abby". She had allowed a few light colors in the wilderness of deep purples and greens. And the carpet remained the ugly cream it had been when she first moved in.

The girl from the night before lay on the couch, sprawled beneath a quilt her bowling team had made for her. Since they were nuns, it was white, with a large golden cross on the top, and a soft amber on the bottom. Along with the words Totus Palma ut Suus Sanctus Nomen quod Offendo totus Inter, which translated literally as "All Glory to His Holy Name and Strikes all Around".

Abby stumped over and poked the girl. If she wasn't able to sleep like the dead, then this girl shouldn't either.

She rolled over and growled in her sleep. Abby grabbed the remote to her stereo system and pressed play. Angel Witch blared through the speakers and shook the building, jolting the girl up and off the couch with a scream.

"WHAT THE F-?"

Abby paused the song and the girl froze at the sudden silence. Finally, she grabbed the nearest lamp and tried to swing it at Abby.

The normally happy goth jumped back and snarled, "It is way too early in the morning for anyone to throw a hissy fit. Even you."

"Who the hell are you?" the girl shrieked.

Abby's angry frown made the girl flinch. "Oh, I'm no one. Just the crazy girl who saved you from two freaking rapists last night!"

"Oh." The lamp was slowly set back down. "Seriously?"

Abby rolled her eyes. "Yeah. I AM serious. And it's still too early for any of this. Got it? Now let me take a shower and get dressed in something cute, and THEN we can talk."

The girl slowly nodded and then glanced down at her rumpled clothes. "Do you think I could borrow n outfit?"

With a shrug, Abby threw out an arm toward the bedroom and headed off to the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, she was awake and aware and happy, make-up on and hair pulled up. She wandered back toward her room in a huge, jet colored towel.

When she walked in, her grumpy mood came back. Her clothes were thrown over all available space, and her jewelry was in several tangled piles. Not to mention, all the shoes she owned were scattered aimlessly about.

And the fiend who caused it was singing "We're all in this together! And we know, when we stand, hand in hand, make our dreams come true!" as she danced around the room in Abby's favorite crossbone embossed, bright pink tee, and the camo mini skirt she had planned to wear to work.

Abby seriously considered using the one move Ziva had taught her that involved a quick death, using a pen. But she took a deep, cleansing breath and refrained.

"Please get out of my room before I kill you," she grumbled.

The girl spun around, eyes wide. "Um... sorry about the mess. But you're style choices are kind of... questionable. It took me a while to find something worth wearing."

Abby glared. "Go to the kitchen and get me a Caf-Pow out of the fridge. NOW."

The girl spun and hurried out, and Abby began sorting through the piles. Ten minutes passed while she dressed and waited for the girl to bring her her drink. Eventually, she peeked down the hall and saw the front door hanging open. It was only then that she realized the girl had taken her own clothes and walked out the door wearing Abby's clothes

"I hate Wednesdays," Abby frowned.

As she grabbed her wallet and headed for the door, she noticed the vial of blood she had left on the counter from when she had drawn it last night. Tilting her head, she considered it for a moment. Finally she decided to take it in and test it. Just in case.

"That can't be right."

McGee wandered into the lab to find Abby hunched over a keyboard, staring intently at her computer screen.

"What's going on?"

Abby jerked up and spun, trying to paste on innocent expression. "Nothing!"

An incredulous eyebrow was raised, and Abby bit her lip. "You know me too well, McGee."

He just grinned and moseyed over to the computer, reading the lines of data that scrolled across the screen. His forehead furrowed. "Where did you get this sample?"

"You know that girl I told you about last night? Well, I took a little bit of her blood last night, before she ran off without so much as a thank you, and my clothes on her back. Anyway, I decided to check it out. And this was what was in her system. This is not something anyone would give a girl to just drug her long enough to rape her. This is-"

"Pottasium cyanide? Isn't that most commonly used to-"

"Put people into a coma, and then keep them that way. Why the heck would they make her take that? That's got way more juice then everyday rapists have access to. So how did they even get a hold of it?"

"Weird."

Abby nodded and tugged on her bat necklace.

"Maybe you should run the tests again?" McGee suggested slowly.

"I already did. Three times," Abby sighed. "And now I'm all out of blood. So, that's out."

"Well then, Gibbs could-"

Abby spun on him furiously. "No, McGee! You guys are on a case! I can't bother Gibbs. He'd just be mad that I'm working on something else when I should be focusing entirely on anything you guys bring in for me to test."

McGee rolled his eyes. "And if anything happens to you because of all this, he'll kill me. And then you. Because neither of us told him."

She shrugged and stared at the screen, willing it to say anything but what it was saying. Finally, she sighed and minimized the window. "I'll worry about it later. Tell me about the new case you guys are working on."


	3. Chapter 3

Abby Announces Herself

Abby stared down at the little wallet on the counter. The girl from that morning had left it behind, and now Abby wasn't sure what to do with it.

Gibbs and the team were all back in the office and brainstorming. Generally that ended with Gibbs saying something, and McGee having to find it on the computer.

Apparently, this time, they were all stumped, since Abby had nothing to test, look for, or do, and McGee was hanging out with her in the lab.

Finally, curiosity won out, and Abby picked up the wallet and opened it. It was sparkly and bright pink, which told Abby a lot about the clothes thief. Inside was a fifty, a library card, and an i.d. The girl's name was "Alison Marshal", and she was twenty-one.

Abby booted up her computer, and checked the information. The name was right, but the girl was actually eighteen, according to her current school records.

But the address was right.

McGee looked over at Abby, who was biting her lip, and sighed. "Abby, what are you thinking?"

Abby shrugged, then made a decision. "I'm gonna run an errand, okay? And you get to run interference. If Gibbs comes down, tell him I'm... having lady problems. He'll be annoyed, but he won't do anything. Got it?"

McGee was already shaking his head. "No way. Gibbs would kill me if he found out I was lying."

Turning to face him straight on, Abby slumped her shoulders and pouted. "It's a two minute walk, McGee. I'll be back in less than ten minutes!"

He couldn't hold out for long against Abby's puppy dog eyes. Finally, he groaned. "Ten minutes! Anymore than that and I tell Gibbs the truth. Got it?"

Abby nodded her head vigorously and spun on her platform heels, rushing out of the lab.

Three minutes later, she stood at the door to an apartment. She knocked, and the door swung open a few inches. Abby called out, "Alison! I'm Abby Sciuto! The one who got you away from the rapists last night?"

She waited a few seconds, then pushed the door farther open. "Alison? Don't worry. I'm with NCIS. IT's the Naval Criminal-"

Abby stopped dead.

Alison was nowhere to be seen, but there was a huge puddle of blood on the floor. And standing over it where the two men from the club. One of them had a gun in his hand, with a silencer attached.

The other glared and finished Abby's statement. "Investigative Service."

Abby started to back away, but they were across the room in seconds, grabbing her. She used every move Gibbs and Ziva had taught her, but it wasn't enough. And she never got to the mace in her purse.

They held her immobile, and the syringe slipped into her arm.

Her thoughts started to float, as her limbs lost feeling. Abby's mind kept working, and she started eliminating the different drugs that could knock her out, based on symptoms, and the method it was given to her.

_What is it?..._

And then that slipped away as well.

_Mirrors on the ceiling,_

_The pink champagne on ice_

_And she said 'We are all just prisoners here,_

_ of our own device'_

_And in the master's chambers,_

_They gathered for the feast_

_They stab it with their steely knives,_

_But they just can't kill the beast_

_Last thing I remember, I was_

_Running for the door_

_I had to find the passage back_

_To the place I was before_

'_Relax,' said the night man,_

'_We are programmed to receive._

_You can check out any time you like,_

_ but you can never leave.'_

Abby wanted to be confused.

_I'm loosing consciousness, and Hotel California is playing in my head? What the crap..._

"Where's Abby, McGee?"

Gibbs towered over McGee, his eyes were like bullets. And McGee shifted his weight back and forth, a motion Gibbs recognized as discomfort.

Finally, McGee sighed. "She said she was running an errand."

"Where?"

"Somewhere within a two minute walk. She said she'd be back in ten minutes."

"And how long has she been gone, McGee?"

McGee wanted to flinch, but tried to control his reaction. "Twenty minutes?"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow, and McGee jumped. "Right, Boss. I'll find out where she is, right now."

He rushed over to the computer and started typing, machine gun style. Before he found anything, though, Gibbs phone rang.

"What?" Gibbs answered. He listened for a minute, then tapped McGee. "We've got a new case."

"Why? We're already working one," McGee wondered.

"Apparently one of the other teams is going to be taking it. Suit up and let's go. I'll talk to Abby once we get back."

McGee knew, if it was anyone else, a Gibbs slap would be guaranteed. But Abby had always been an exception. He hurried to grab his gear, and they all headed out. And McGee put the whole mystery of Abby and the club girl out of his mind.

Until they reached the crime scene.

It was Ziva who saw it first. Lying on the floor right inside the apartment's door was a black cell phone with a bat logo. Just like Abby's phone.

Then Tony saw the spilled purse. Small and velvet black on the outside, with dark purple satin on the inside. Shaped like a coffin. Abby's purse.

McGee saw the clothes on the dead body, and didn't register the face. It was an outfit he knew. They were Abby's clothes.

Ducky was the one to finally walk forward and turn the body over. The all wanted to breathe a sigh of relief. The girl who had been shot and cut up, hair chopped off, was not Abby. It was a stranger. Abby was fine and safe, probably back at the lab.

Then Gibbs saw it.

Written on the wall in blood were the words "BACK OFF NCIS". And stuck into the wall with a knife, just beneath the message, was Abby's work i.d.

Gibbs didn't know who they were, or why they had done it. But the murderers had taken Abby.

And if they touched a single hair on her gothic head, Gibbs would kill them.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Abby is Afraid

a/n This one may bump up the rating, thanks to the bad guys. Just fyi.

Abby woke up with her head ringing. She was tied to a chair in a cement room with no windows, and only one door. The source of light was a construction standing lamp, which burned her eyes. And she was missing her coat, her shoes and her pants.

That terrified her, until she checked her black panties with purple bats. When she saw they were on and intact, she breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn't been raped.

_Yet_, she warned herself.

She coughed and spit out the last of the bitter, lingering taste in her mouth from whatever they had given her. As she considered this, and again tried to figure out exactly what they might have drugged her with, the door swung open.

"Hello, Miss Scuito."

Gibbs brought his coffee cup to his lips, but didn't drink. What was the point?

He threw the full cup away, and stared around the crime scene again.

Gibbs and the team had been going over it with a fine tooth comb for hours. And they'd found nothing.

_And Abby was still missing._

With a groan, Gibbs walked out the door and sat down on the apartment complex stairs.

Abby was his responsibility. He was supposed to protect her. He had already lost Shannon and Kelly. Through all the years and all the divorces, that crazy looking, excitable, New Orleans genius was the one constant. She was family, even if they weren't tied by blood. He could not loose her.

He knew the whole team was worried, but they were still working. And the only way they were going to find Abby was to keep the investigation going, even if that meant putting her in more danger.

Gibbs knew he had to pull himself together.

He simply wasn't sure how.

_Pain. Fear._

It was all Abby could seem to remember.

The two men from the club had started on her left foot and worked their way up, slowly, one broken bone and slice of flesh at a time. They had given her something that made her body more sensitive. She had passed out dozens of times already.

Abby had no idea how long she had been in the room, with the ropes digging into her arms, holding her to the cold metal chair. It could have been hours, or days.

It felt like years.

Abby tried to scold herself. Tried to get that brilliant mind of hers to boot up. Tried to take in details. It didn't work. The pain was too powerful, too overwhelming.

The door swung open with a heavy scraping noise, and the hope that flared in Abby was obliterated when the man with the blue eyes stepped through.

He looked like a business man, in a sharp black suit, white button down shirt, and an olive tie. His hair was neatly trimmed, shoes shined and his face was handsome and clean-shaven. In other circumstances, Abby might have considered him cute, in a "businessy sort of way". But now the very sight of him terrified Abby, sending her heart rate rocketing, and pushing her closer to hyperventilating.

He never hurt her, no speck of blood ever touched his immaculate wardrobe. But he was the one who told the men to make her scream and cry.

There were moments of frozen relief whee he would order them to stop, so he could quiz her on what she knew. And she would try to breathe, try to calm down, try to control the exploding fear. Instead, as he watched her cooly, asking question after question in that calm, friendly voice, her thoughts sped forward and her vivid imagination began guessing what they would do to her next.

The salt from the tears and blood mixed and stung, making everything worse.

Every so often, a face flashed in Abby's traumatized mind and gave her scattered moments of peace.

Her lips formed a name, the name that was the only thing keeping her sane through everything they were doing to her.

"Gibbs."

"Gibbs... Gibbs!"

He spun to face Ziva and glared. "What?"

They had finally given up on finding anything else at the apartment and had moved back to NCIS, running one scenario after another, trying to figure out what the hell was going on and who might have Abby.

"McGee says he's found something."

Gibbs didn't waste time. And, for once, he didn't bother with the elevator. The ride would take too long. Instead, he ran down the stairs.

McGee had spent the past three hours in Abby's lab, attempting to discover everything Abby had done and everywhere Abby had been for the past week.

He was sure that it all had to do with the girl in the apartment. And McGee had quickly realized that it had to be the same girl who Abby had gotten away from the men at the club.

But which club?

McGee needed to find that out before he could find a witness to describe the men.

He had looked for an on-line planner, or schedule. He had checked Abby's credit history in case she had paid with a card. He had even checked her blogs, to see if she had up a list of her favorite bars and clubs. And so far he had found nothing.

Finally, he had considered Abby, not as a case, but as the girl he knew. And it had hit him. _Abby would not drive drunk. And she hated public transportation_.

A cab!

McGee brought up her phone records and found what he was looking for. She had called a company named Leonard Lark's Cabbies.

McGee put in a quick call and prayed they would remember Abby. After all, she was practically impossible to forget.

He was in luck. Lenny, the man who owned the cab company, knew Abby personally. He had sent one of his drivers, Hubert Roger, to pick her up at a club called Trinity Chaos last night.

When Lenny asked Roger, Roger told McGee that Abby had paid for herself and another girl, who had seemed very drunk. The description Roger gave was of the dead girl.

When Gibbs flew in the door, McGee stood up straight and tall and simply said, "Trinity Chaos Club."

And Gibbs spun and was gone.

Even Ziva was afraid on the car ride to the club.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Abby Needs her Gibbs

a/n Sorry this has taken me so long to get back to. My muse has been flirting with all sorts of other tv shows and movies. (In particular Leverage.) Anyway, I will do my best in the future to chain my muse to whatever I'm working on at the time.

Smashing through the doors of the bar (completely ignoring the sing that said they didn't open for another five hours), Gibbs focused his eyes on the woman pulling down chairs and wiping off tables.

"Ma'am?"

The gal in question spun around and glared. "Listen, mister, when the sign says we don't open until nine, it means we _don't open 'til nine_. Got it?"

The badge was up and aimed in her direction in moments. "NCIS."

"Oh. Like Abby?"

Gibbs' heart skipped a beat. "You know her?"

"Sure," the woman shrugged. "I'm Lexy, I own Trinity Chaos and Abs is a friend."

"Well she's missing," was his blunt reply.

Lexy sank into one of the chairs she had just righted, opened and closed her mouth a few times and then finally, shakily asked, "What?"

With a sigh, the silver-haired agent ran a hand over his face. "Do you remember if she had any trouble last night when she was in here. Before she disappeared, she told one of my agents about saving a girl from two men who slipped something in her drink. Does that ring any bells?"

Face white, hands clenched in fists, the bartender nodded. "Those _bastards_."

"Can you describe them?"

"Sure," she started. Before she could continue, Gibbs turned to Ziva and Tony. "Go get me a sketch artist. Now."

"But Boss-"

The glare leveled at them had both the agents aiming for the door. Tony even let Ziva have the keys.

"Where are we supposed to find a sketch artist?" Ziva questioned as the car narrowly missed a city bus.

Tony's grip on the handle above the door and his arm rest never faltered, and he hissed. "Local police department."

"And how exactly are we to convince the police to allow us to borrow their artist?"

"Ziva... ZIVA, THAT'S A ONE WAY STREET!"

She frowned and ignored him, twisting the wheel hard to the left.

The rest of the drive was spent in terrified silence, on the part of Tony, and hypothetical questions for which she really wanted answers, on the part of Ziva.

When the car finally swerved across three lanes of traffic to come to a jolting stop in front of the police building, Tony whispered, "Thank you, God."

"Tony!" A slug on the shoulder brought his attention back to his ex-Mossad partner. "You never answered my question! How do we convince the PD to let us borrow a sketch artist?"

The grin that curled over Tony's face was not nice. "How said anything about asking?"

"Oh." A nod of the woman's head. "So we are about to precipitate in the kidnapping of member of the D.C. Police Department."

"_Participate_, Ziva."

"Of course."

At the same time the two were debating the best course of action to capture said sketch artist, Lexy had made McGee's day by admitting that the bar had a camera security system. With her help, and the Elf Lord's fiddling, they were able to find a decent shot of both men.

"Can you send this?" Gibbs asked, invading McGee's personal space as he glared at the screen.

"Yes, Boss."

"Put it out with a BOLO then. And tell the truth, that they're wanted in regards to the kidnapping of a federal agent."

McGee's smile was pleasantly cruel. "Yes, Boss."

By the time Ziva and Tony returned, dragging a sketch artist behind them, who was watching the woman with the fascination and fear of someone faced with a cobra, state police had picked up one of the men.

The blonde had been driving within an expired registration, and when he was pulled over, the cop had recognized him from the BOLO.

The sketch artist was abandoned in Lexy's care, and Gibbs was twelve steps ahead of his team, revving the car as they scrambled out the door.

When Abby came back to consciousness , she was alone in the room. Her left foot and leg looked like ground meat. She tried to take in the damage, but-

_The smell and sizzle of the burned, blistered square of skin and muscle from the heated poker which had been pressed into it._

_The sharp slices on the top of her foot from the three, endless, sadistic games of tic-tac-toe._

_The naseua, and dry heaves, from the twisting, wet crunches of each toe being broken, one at a time._

Finally, her dark eyes jerked away from the most oddly horrifying injury.

The skull and crossbones _brand_ on her inner thigh.

A pathetic, pain drunk giggle escaped her. If the symbol had been a tattoo, it would have kicked ass. But it was a goddamn _brand_. Like on a cow, or some kind of kinktress.

Normally, Abby wasn't opposed to certain types of kinky. But she would have to let her future boyfriends know it was now definitely off the menu.

As these thoughts rushed through her brain, Abby finally realized how dry her mouth was. The sound of dripping turned her head.

Peering over, she identified the source as a leaking pipe on the ceiling. Then spent the next twenty minutes calculating the distance between where Abby was tied to the chair, and the puddle below the drips, in feet, inches, centimeters, and micrometers.

None of that brought her any closer to a drink.

The thought of drinking led to Caf-Pow. If there had been any water left in her mouth, she would be salivating.

Caf-Pow led to Gibbs.

_Gibbs, where are you?_

Another tear slipped between her heavy lashes to splash on her shredded leg.

_Where are you?_

"Where is she?" Gibbs demanded, fisting her hands in the blonde's jacket and shoving him heavily back against the wall, knocking the bastard's head into the concrete.

The man wasn't talking, and Gibbs was going to beat it out of him, if that's what it took to get Abs back safe.


End file.
